While You And the Kids Were
Gone for the Weekend, Dear Wife
I scrubbed the toilet with my bare hands.
I moved the ottoman back to the rug.
The red fighting fish died.
The weather has been nice, except for today
it's just thunder, thunder,
boom. Did you ever notice
when it's damp
the living room smells
like the house burned down
two weeks ago? I saw
a documentary about old John Adams.
You know his kids had to melt
their toys into musket balls
while he was in France?
Can we trust Dominic with matches again?
You bringing me back something I'll want
from Viola? Is that de rigueur?
I remember when a man could
meet his family at the airport gate.
The rain is coming in Daphne's window now.
The cat has retired to the closet.
I'm pissing outside tonight.
Everything else, if not delayed or canceled,
comes in tomorrow at 11:39 AM.
Blond boy in your daddy's truck, burning rubber
on your way to Leon High - go. Next
door neighbor, my sad neighbor, fussing over
some dry vines on our shared brown fence - go. Black
flip-flops waiting for anyone's feet by the back door,
mailman shiny truck, good news for me today? Go.
Dead battery in my daughter's toy coffee maker,
me, my kids' old man, knocking my fool hand
through the front door window, violence
I have done, that my children will do - go.
Wife who never naps, asleep on our daughter's bed,
me, the house too hot, you, my too cold wife,
waking her with a cup of black coffee
from the tin in the dark freezer bin, and love
again, honey, like the banana in our pancakes,
like the disappearing drab of water in your cleaned
cereal bowl, protecting the loneliness of each
other, which is love. Go.